


To Build A Home

by theloverneverleaves



Series: Shadowhunters Love Fest [13]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Clary has never trained so hard in her life, Established Relationship, Everyday Moments, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Izzy has and wants to help, Soft girls being soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloverneverleaves/pseuds/theloverneverleaves
Summary: Clary's never hurt so much in her life. She's never been lazy, but Shadowhunter training is a whole new level of intense. Thankfully, though, there's always someone there to make her feel at home at the end of the day.aka. soft clizzy being soft





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Shadowhunters Love Fest](http://achilleanragnor.tumblr.com/post/154910608248/shadowhunters-valentines-day-fic-a-thon). Today is Everyday Moments day, and I took the chance to indulge in some soft Clizzy for y'all. 
> 
> Come yell at me at [isabellebiwoods](http://isabellebiwoods.tumblr.com/) xoxo

Clary ached. Her bones creaked and her bruises ran deep, and she’d never trained like this before in her life. She’d never been  _ lazy _ , per se. She was raised in New York - she walked everywhere she could, and she had always enjoyed running. But there was running and there was  _ running _ . There was doing gentle exercise to keep herself fit, and there was training several hours a day until her arms were weak and her body was ready to simply crumple and collapse in on itself. 

She was a Shadowhunter. That was what they kept telling her. She was a Shadowhunter now and she had to act like one, had to be able to defend herself because the world wasn't safe anymore. The streets she'd loved, the classrooms she'd longed for, none of those were  _ safe  _ because she was a Shadowhunter and she was Valentine's daughter, which meant there wasn't a safe place in the world outside of the Institute.

Of course, she'd contest that. Luke had always kept her safe, and the Jade Wolf would always be safe for her. Magnus, too, would never hand her over to Valentine. There were other safe places. But they were downworlder places, which meant that they didn't count as far as the Institute was concerned.

Either way, she had to learn to defend herself, had to grow up and take her place in this world because she didn't have any other choice. Alec didn't think she belonged here, and she could tell that so many of the other Shadowhunters thought the same. She was a mundane, silly girl that hadn't been raised into their traditions, their legacy. She didn't have the experience, the skill or the ability they had. Every other rune she drew she needed to look up, and in the heat of battle she still needed to be protected, to be defended.

The end result of all that was that her bones hurt, her body ached, and she was exhausted. And at the end of the day, all she could do was stretch out on a bed that wasn’t hers, in a room that didn’t feel like home. The space lacked anything personal. Her room at home,  _ real _ home, had been filled with her art projects and memories, photos of years gone by, trinkets from trips and days out and birthdays and other events. This room, here, at the institute, was all warm colours and old furniture, a stylish collection that Clary would never have picked for herself. 

It felt like a showroom. It felt like a hotel. Her closet was bare, cupboards empty, and in that moment, Clary had somehow never felt more alone. Simon was gone, banished from the Institute for being a downworlder. A word spat out like it was dirty, like a curse. Luke, too, was gone from her life for the same reason. Her mother was around, but they saw eye to eye on so little these days that Clary didn’t  _ want _ to see her. Alec hated her, Jace wouldn’t look her in the eye, and Izzy…

There was a gentle knock at the door, before the old wooden thing creaked open slowly, a wave of midnight dark hair spilling around the gap. “Hey. Are you okay?”

There was Izzy. Right when she needed her, too.

Clary was too tired to move, too tired to lift herself off the mattress, but nodded anyway, the movement somehow making everything hurt more. 

Izzy moved inside, her pace slow, as if the room was a museum and there was art to be admired. Clary felt the bed dip beside her, then Izzy was there, leaning over her, hair dripping towards the duvet like a waterfall, a soft smile on her face. “You don’t look okay,” Izzy continued softly, before reaching up, pulling some of Clary’s hair from her face. Izzy looked beautiful. She was wearing nothing but a pair of yoga pants and a sports bra, but still had on her makeup, and still looked flawless. She looked ready to kill a man.

Maybe Clary just thought that because she knew Izzy  _ could _ kill a man.

“I’m fine,” Clary assured her, but Izzy’s eyes were roaming, hands skimming, gently pulling the fabric of her hoodie away from her stomach. Her skin was no longer pale, instead a mottled map of purple, yellow and blue, a maze leading back to every single training session she’d been to this week. Her back was worse, every point she’d hit the floor stained with a bruise. And Alec really did enjoy throwing her into the proverbial dirt.

“Here, I’ll draw you another Iratze,” Izzy offered gently, reaching over with her stele, but before she could Clary reached out, stilling her hand. 

“No. No, it’s okay.” 

Clary didn’t know what to say to Izzy about it. How to explain that she wanted to feel those bruises. That she was tired of being a Shadowhunter, tired of healing away every tiny wound, tired of using runes to make her faster and stronger and so much less  _ human _ . She wanted to feel her morality again. She wanted to feel normal, and looking in the mirror and seeing those bruises was the only small rebellion she could manage right now.

But Izzy didn’t ask. So Clary didn't have to explain. 

Instead, Izzy slid off the bed, squeezing Clary’s arm gently as she did so, just the gentlest brush of skin. 

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” Izzy promised her. 

There was no danger of that. Clary was tired, and she had nowhere else to go, as everyone liked to remind her. Clary had never  _ wanted _ any of this. She hadn’t gone out on her birthday looking to turn her reality upside down. But where she might have felt some sort of wonder and excitement before, all of that was little more than ashes in her mouth now. She felt trapped, lost, and staring into a future that was as uncertain as it was incomprehensible. 

As a child, everyone Clary knew had dreamed of being fantastic adventures. Being a princess or a mermaid or a wizard, being able to fly or breathe underwater and do the impossible. Now the impossible was at her fingertips, she couldn’t help but muse about how naive all those dreams were.

Clary couldn’t pinpoint how much time had passed by the time Izzy came back, but come back she did, the door clicking open softly, and there was a pause as she seemed to juggle several things in her arms. Curious, Clary lifted her head off the mattress, watching her walk inside with several bags swinging off her arms, a tray loaded with mugs and plastic in her hands.

“What’s all this?” Clary asked, beginning to get up. But Izzy shook her head.

“Sit still, it’s okay,” Izzy promised her, putting the tray down on the dresser, and dropping the bags on the floor. Firstly, Izzy lifted the mug off the tray, moving over to the bed and pressing it into Clary’s hands. “I made tea. Chamomile.” Clary sipped at the warm liquid a little nervously, but as it turned out the heat of the mug on its own was soothing in her hands. And the tea was pretty good.

Clearly, Izzy knew how to be a barista, even if her skills in the kitchen needed a little more work. 

Izzy moved back to the tray, gently lifting off the bundles of plastic and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Without a word, she reached forward, slipping Clary’s hoodie from her shoulders, and pressing one of the little plastic packets to one of her more violent bruises. Clary started a little. It was cold.

“This always used to help when I got injured in training,” Izzy explained softly, gently taping the pack to her skin. The cold was surprising, but also soothing on some level. It helped, anyway. Or maybe that was just the feeling of Izzy’s hands on her skin, gently caressing her and taking  _ care _ of her. Clary couldn’t remember the last time she’d been looked after. It felt like a lifetime ago. Ever since all of this had begun, she’d been running and fighting and trying to survive, dealing with one trauma after another and trying not to breakdown into a mess of tears. Someone looking after her was… everything.

Maybe this would make her cry too. 

Clary sat there like a statue, letting Izzy gently tape her up injuries, trying to keep breathing despite the fact that Izzy’s hands seemed to be  _ everywhere _ all at once. Izzy had been there for her, every step of the way and this… Christ, Clary loved her so much. She was perfect, caring, beautiful, smart, kickass… she was everything.

“Didn’t you just use runes?” Clary asked softly, and Izzy smiled softly, shaking her head.

“I didn’t get my first rune until long after I’d started training. It pays to know how to function without them.”

Clary thought about that, about the image of a tiny Isabelle Lightwood, fighting kids twice her age and taking hits and bruises as she learned how to kill, how to maim and disable and fight and survive.

She didn’t know whether to feel proud, or to cry at the fact any child was trained for war so young.

“So how am I looking, Dr Lightwood?” Clary asked, and Izzy giggled a little, sitting back and admiring her work. She smiled that soft little heartbreaking smile, and despite her pain and her exhaustion, Clary swore she melted a little. 

“Beautiful as always, Miss Fray,” Izzy promised her, before leaning in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, and Clary swore she felt all her breath leave her lungs. How on Earth she’d been so lucky as to get Isabelle Lightwood in her life, Clary would never know. Let alone kissing her, dating her, being her  _ girlfriend _ … It all felt impossible, just as impossible as all the monsters at her door. This wasn’t her life. This didn’t feel real. It was all too horrific and too precious all at once. 

“What else did you bring?” Clary asked curiously, nodding towards the bags Izzy had left by the door. Izzy glanced over her shoulder, eyes brightening a little at the thought. She smiled broadly, jumping off the bed and returning with the large collection of the shopping bags. She placed them on the bed, and Clary reached out for them, but Izzy’s hands held them shut, stopping her from looking inside.

“You have to promise to be honest. We can return whatever you want,” Izzy warned her, and Clary raised an eyebrow, looking at the other girl curiously.

“O-kay? What’s all this about, Iz?”

Isabelle gently released the bags, diving into one of them and extricating a large pile of soft t-shirts, shirts and tank tops. They looked beautiful, warm, and exactly Clary’s style, unlike half of what was in Izzy’s wardrobe, which was far too revealing and tight fitting for her liking. Clary wanted her clothes to be soft and warm and comfy, nothing more. Not that she hadn’t been grateful to Izzy for letting Clary borrow her clothes when she had nothing. But still. Izzy had been so insistent on style and yet…

“I went shopping for you. Since you couldn’t go yourself. I have a good eye for sizes, I just tried to pick things I thought you’d like. Things you’d feel comfortable in. But whatever you don’t want to keep, we can send straight back, I promise,” Izzy promised her. “I just thought it was about time you had your own wardrobe again.”

Clary’s free hand reached out for the top of the pile, a soft, navy t-shirt, something that seemed to be loose fitting and revealing all at once. 

About ten seconds later, she realised her face was damp, and Izzy was panicking, her face falling. The moment Clary noticed that, she shook her head, waving Izzy off before burying her nose into her mug of tea, letting the t-shirt slip out of her grasp. She took several deep breaths, trying to balance herself to the point where she could properly vocalise.

“It’s… that’s really nice of you, Izzy. That’s… thank you.”

Izzy smiled, reaching up for Clary’s face, gently swiping the tears away.

“Anything you need. You always have me. Okay?”

Clary nodded, taking a long, deep breath. What had she ever done to deserve such luck, beauty and goodness in her life? Or was this fate’s way of repaying her for all the terrible, awful shit she’d been through since her birthday? Clary didn’t know, but she certainly wasn’t going to question it too hard. She’d do whatever she could to hold onto Isabelle Lightwood in her life. The woman was a miracle. And she was worth whatever tears and bruises came with everything else around her.

Isabelle gently reached for Clary’s mug, placing it out of harm’s way before diving into the bags for the rest of the clothes she’d bought. Jeans, yoga pants, sneakers, boots, even underwear and nightwear, a little embarrassingly. Izzy had bought her a whole store. And it all looked… perfect, and oh so touching.

“Come on. Try some things on for me. Pick out what you like. You can keep as much as you want - I can’t wait to see Victor’s face when he sees the credit card bill.”

Clary laughed through the tears, and nodded. It was all so…  _ mundane _ . Clothes shopping and tea and bandaging her wounds. But it was the most sweet, thoughtful, romantic gesture Izzy could have made. And Clary loved her all the more for it. She was beautiful, inside and out. She was  _ everything _ . 

Clary had missed all of this. The mundane. The everyday, the normal. And much later, when Izzy peeled off the ice packs, tucked her into bed and painted her nails, Clary couldn’t help but think how much she needed this. The everyday, the domestic. 

There was more romance in that moment than every single adventure she and Jace had gone on. And Clary wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.


End file.
